Pretend
by nlizzette7
Summary: "There's a sharp tremble running along the nape of her neck - the kind of excitement she'll only ever get from playing pretend with Chuck Bass." / CB and role play / One-shot


**A/N: **Dedicated to Mary. I tackled many of her prompts in this one-shot, so hopefully it'll feed the Prompt Monster until my next piece. I hope I've won some cookies!

* * *

**Pretend**

_marie_

Chuck Bass lives exactly for this. He loosens his tie when the scent of French perfumes and luscious desserts permeates the air. Strands of white silk have left a luxe trail of breadcrumbs along his foyer and into his bedroom at The Empire. He licks his lips when he hears the rustle of fabric from another room.

Chuck turns a corner, and his mouth dries.

He lives _exactly_ for this.

You see, he's had plenty of girls, a flurry of empty-hearted thrusts and broken finishes. But that is all a broken film reel, a dull preview to the masterpiece that is Blair Waldorf. She stands before him in a room dripping with white, a light yellow glow. Her hair is piled up into an intricate pile of interwoven curls, her torso is wrapped in pink lace, a white and maroon corset perking her breasts and frilling around her creamy thighs.

"Blair - "

"Your majesty," she corrects, and the smile does not escape her pink lips for even a moment. She sits back upon a chaise he's never seen before, all white and luxurious. And this is his favorite thing about his girlfriend - how utterly elaborate she is in everything she sets her mind to. She is stunning in her deviousness, delicious in her decadence.

He steps before her and realizes that her costume is even more detailed than he'd initially noticed. All around her, porcelain dessert bowls and fine China are filled to the brim with luscious fruits, mouth-watering pastries, and creams - much like the cream pasted on some parts of her skin right now.

Blair scrapes her finger along the swell of her breast and surfaces with whipped cream. She presses it to her lips, then draws him in by the collar, gasps when his tongue slides across hers. Her eyes flutter shut, but even her slight whimpers sound regal.

In a matter of seconds, they are a mess of strawberries crushed against her fingertips, then into his mouth. He sucks with languor, eyes alight when one of his hands creeps up her thigh, shoves fabric down and palms her breast.

"And," Chuck drawls in that achingly deep voice of his, right against her ear, "what does my queen command?"

Blair smiles, tastes sugar in the air and suddenly wants to taste it on him as well. "Let them eat cake."

He drops down to his knees, eyes intent on the trail of cream on her abdomen, dipping between her legs. Chuck marvels at the way her skin quivers when the pad of his thumb dips into the topping. He makes a mess of her only two seconds later, shoving her corset completely off of red, panting skin. She bites down on a yelp when he bites down on her thighs.

"And if they deny you?"

"Off with their...heads," Blair gasps, brokenly. Her leg twitches, and from the way he shoves it apart from her other, from the way his tongue licks a line from her belly button straight to her core, she guesses that Chuck might have understood something else.

* * *

_bonnie_

The air is crisp, and she loves the skim of leather against her skin when it's this cold.

Blair tightens the black scarf headband against her curls, freshens the scarlet on her lips, tiptoes so that her heels don't click so loudly against the marble leading into his office. There's a sharp tremble running along the nape of her neck - the kind of excitement she'll only ever get from playing pretend with Chuck Bass.

She learned how to pick locks in the fifth grade, and Blair lets out a content little sigh when she hears the familiar little click, feels the drawer of his confidential cabinet give against her palm. She doesn't hesitate before reaching in, grasping a manilla envelope as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. Just another moment and -

"Surprise, surprise."

The husky drawl comes with a sudden pressure on the small of her back, and the cabinet slams shut when her front is pressed up against it. Blair gasps, then stops herself when his palms press against the cold metal on either side of her. Chuck doesn't kiss her yet, just touches his lips to her neck, just slides down to bow her hips backward.

"Bonnie."

"Clyde."

Blair smirks, "It's you." She stifles a moan, arcs her back in a perfect parenthesis. "I thought I'd gotten rid of you in Tuscany."

It's a jab, and he knows it, shows it when he cups the back of her neck, kisses her cheek then bites it to hear her yelp. The silk scarf slips from her locks and crumples on the floor. Neither of them miss it in the slightest.

"You know, you talk a lot of mean for such a pretty little thing," Chuck whispers in her ear, and she can feel him grin against her shoulder, knowing that he's trying to rile her up. His hand slips from her hip, traces the line of her thigh before reaching up to find the silver jangle of connected cuffs in her jacket. He takes them from her, presses the cold metal against her wrist, but doesn't clasp them shut. "And what exactly did you intend to do with these, baby?"

The term of endearment sounds so deliciously wrong on his Upper East Side tongue, and she forces herself to remember the game, even though she's already wet, and he can already feel it, one hand cupping her sex through the tight black cigarette pants she has on.

Blair takes the opportunity to elbow him hard, shove him back against the desk across the room, and slap one cuff around his wrist –

Just as he slaps the other one around hers.

Chuck grins, Blair kisses him hard. He makes a mess of his own office, and she draws blood when she bites down on his lip. They bend across his desk, and any voyeur would mistake his thrusts and her thrashes for an outright brawl between the brunette couple. Her leg curves around his back, and she's so wet that it's dizzying. Chuck's eyes roll back, and his words become a stream of nonsensical profanities when he twines their fingers together, the jagged edges of the handcuffs bruising in the sweetest way.

After, they'll ride away in a luxury rental – little did Blair know that Chuck Bass could actually _drive_ a car, rather than torment her in the backseat of one – and she'll pretend not to love Clyde while she's filled to the brim with adoration for the man playing him.

"Where to?" Chuck cups the nape of her neck, not totally in character anymore.

"Monte Carlo," Blair pretends, wishing it were true. "I'm feeling lucky."

"Anywhere," Chuck murmurs, taking a left turn on Park. "Anywhere, and it's ours."

* * *

_mistress_

"Waiter, this glass is dirty, and I've been waiting far too long."

Immediately, Blair thinks that she might be too giddy to make this work. She's had more champagne than she'll care to admit the next morning, which is why her own childish giggles and the hazy mist of late summer are throwing her completely off balance. She hears his footsteps beat in warning and bites down on her lip.

"Well, I apologize, ma'am," Chuck murmurs, smelling distinctly of the liquor they just drank – and of something else, of something sweet. It intoxicates her, and she forgets all about the champagne. "Surely there's some way I can make up for the poor service."

Laughter coils at her throat, and she forces it down.

"I can think of a few ways." Blair can contain herself no longer, and she drags him in for a kiss, two fingers pinching his collar, inhaling his cologne, moaning against his mouth. And, oddly enough, he doesn't pull the usual routine: his fingers harsh against her hair, his teeth nibbling her skin so gently that it still hurts. Instead, Chuck Bass is oddly quiet and compliant against her, still and serious, waiting.

Blair blinks, grasps his chin to look him in the eye, and she realizes that he's waiting for her, that not only has the ball landed in her court, but Chuck has willingly placed it there himself. He narrows his eyes, lips quivering for a moment, his breath fanning out across her chin.

"You have nothing to say?"

He regards her carefully, cocks his head to the side. And Blair understands now, Chuck cannot apologize for a summer of bubbled-up insecurities in the same way that any other man would. He will not grovel, will not pluck one thousand peonies, will not beg until she is so tired of hearing his smooth tongue that she submits. Those tactics belong to younger, blinder games.

This is raw, and this is real, and this is Chuck showing her _exactly_ who he belongs to in the only way he knows how.

"I want you sitting down," Blair murmurs. Her voice wavers, but they both ignore it. And when Chuck goes to sit, his swagger doesn't leave his step, and it's the only proof she has of who they both are. She stands before them, heels pressed together, hands on his shoulders, positioned between his legs. They share an even breath at the position they're in, knowing that this game has become something else entirely.

"Look at me," Blair orders, willing the command to sound firm. But when he does, she shatters. He's too quiet, and light streams into the room and touches his eyes so thoroughly that she can see the flecks of green hidden there. Chuck knows not to cross her, not now, not like this, but his hands tremble anyway, jump against his thighs, ache to make contact. Her nail traces his jaw in a singular line as she whispers, "You're so handsome."

His throat constricts. There is only silence.

"Take off my dress," Blair whispers. Chuck doesn't hesitate before shoving the emerald green away from her tanned skin, thumbs stroking her collarbone. It pools around her feet, gathers against their legs, and she's left in his favorite little two-piece, pale white lace curling and winding into the shape of lingerie. Chuck swallows, presses a kiss to the center of her abdomen.

Blair lets out a sharp breath, grasps his chin harder than she knows is proper. "I didn't ask you to do that. Did I?"

"No."

"No," Blair agrees. But this torment is enough, and Chuck has a habit of pulling her under just when she's dried off. Her knees sink into the velvet chair seat on either side of his hips, and Blair nuzzles her nose into his neck, encircles his wrists with her slim fingers to pin him down. "Don't move," she warns him, grinding forward with her legs spread wide. "Don't you dare move."

And he doesn't.

Not for hours, and not for years after that.

* * *

_audrey_

The dress is beautiful.

"It's so beautiful," Blair marvels, clad in the slinky black garment, hands on his shoulders, hair piled up just as Audrey's once was. Chuck smiles, achingly gentle with her as they sway across an abandoned ballroom, dancing to the gentle tune of their own footsteps. "This is all I ever wanted. I…" She breaks off, feels his hand curve against her naked back. "I could have been a princess. But I think that I've always just truly wanted the cinematic infatuation, a moment just like this."

Chuck is surprised at her sudden shyness, and he cradles the back of her head. "Blair, this is all that I want for you."

"I feel like her," Blair whispers, lazily hooking her arms around his neck. He trails a finger down the underside of her arm, silly taps against her skin, and it feels too light to be _them _– but somehow, it is. "I feel…as beautiful as Audrey."

"You're as beautiful as you," Chuck muses, touching the diamond tiara tucked into her hair. "I've always been a bit obsessed with how stunning you are."

Her skin is beet red, blazing where he can't see. "Hm," Blair hums against his shoulder, "you're ruining the moment with your deranged tendencies, Bass." Chuck smirks at the words, lifts her off her feet, then dips her slow, spins her around until black fabric lifts around her ankles.

"I'm going by Fred tonight, actually," Chuck corrects. She pulls back to look at him, admiring the light suit he has on, the more casual attire to represent Holly's counterpart in the film. She'd seen the doubt in his eyes when she propositioned him to play out her long-time fantasy. They'd both known that the role would be better-suited for a more fair-haired boy like Nate.

_Breakfast at Tiffany's _never was a dark tale like Chuck and Blair's.

But Chuck is gorgeous in this suit and in her arms, and it's dizzying, this feeling. She feels like she might topple over and drift from the world if she falls any further. _So this_, Blair considers. _Is what Holly had been so afraid of._

"Take me," Blair begs, reaching back to touch the halter's knot at the nape of her neck.

But he stills her hand, touches her knuckles, brings her fingers back to the curve of his shoulder. Chuck grins, cups her chin, "Not yet, Waldorf." But before she can correct the name, he bows her forward and continues, "What I'm about to do will never be spoken of again."

She frowns, stares out at the expanse of the room. "So, there's a sexual position that even Chuck _Bass _is ashamed of. I don't see how that's – " Blair cuts off when she hears the familiar hum in her ear, and she quiets, tightens her grip on him, closes her eyes to make sure that she is not mistaken – that Chuck is truly humming under his breath, singing in her ear.

_Moon river, wider than a mile._

_I'm crossing you in style someday._

_You dream maker, you heartbreaker. _

_Wherever you're going I'm going your way._

He sounds like nothing she's ever heard before, coffee just a tinge too black, but still sweet in its own way. Chuck's voice is deep, and it's barely a song – but it enchants her, sweeps her into an age that is not their own, and Blair silently begs time to stand still.

_Two drifters off to see the world._

_There's such a lot of world to see._

_We're after the same rainbow's end,_

_Waiting 'round the bend,_

_My huckleberry friend, moon river and me._

He takes her against the wall, on the floor, thrusts that are deep and purposeful, his fingers sinking into her thigh, then pressing in. Chuck's song becomes a groan, deep and rumbling against the hollow of her throat. And Blair goes blind, not once but twice, shuddering in Audrey's signature dress.

If Nirvana exists, this must be it.

_(Moon river, wider than a mile) _

_(I'm crossing you in style some day) _

_Oh dream maker, you heart breaker,_

_Wherever you're going, I'm going your way._

"Chuck Bass can sing," Blair rasps, her throat aching when she speaks, her arm cramped as she lays atop him, sprawled out over his jacket across the ballroom floor. This fairytale belongs to her now , erotic and unforgettable, magic at its best. Even Chuck is dazed when she asks, "Who knew?"

"Now?" Chuck grins, picks the tiara up from where it was abandoned hours before and places it back on her head. "You do."

* * *

_blair_

"I can be whoever you want me to be," Blair murmurs, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. She's riled up today, hands already shoving his jacket off. And she'll only ever promise this to him, allow this for him. Shedding their skin and playing pretend is what they know best. And though it comes from a terrible place, two lost childhoods, a short lifetime of loneliness, they've turned it into something blissful.

"Oh yeah?" Chuck smirks, one step ahead, stripping her skirt off as she scrambles with thoughts of her next costumes, Cleopatra's headdress, a lieutenant's stiff uniform. They stumble backwards as she lists them off, falling to the bed in melody of hushed giggles and crackled moans.

Chuck breaks away to mutter, "How about my favorite?"

Blair pulls back, chin against his chest, eyebrows raised. "I don't…"

He reaches over, fingers skirting over to her nightstand, until he grasps onto something rigid, its covering silky and smooth. Chuck pushes his fingers through her hair, kisses her chin as he proffers the headband.

"I want you to put this on," Chuck says, "and I want you to be Blair."

_fin._


End file.
